


Lightning

by Wigeott



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bodyswap, Hogwarts, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, soul swap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 09:02:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28348857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wigeott/pseuds/Wigeott
Summary: A chill, lightning-fast and sickening, ran through your stomach and up to your brain - then that very same chill hit you from outside your own body. Cold and cruel, humid and dark.Everything came rushing up to your senses at once. With a jolt, you felt yourself leaning forwards, awash in pain that spread through your arm and up to your chest.... Ink shone on your hands.
Kudos: 6





	1. Soul-searched

A chill, lightning-fast and sickening, ran through your stomach and up to your brain - then that very same chill hit you from outside your own body. Cold and cruel, humid and dark.  
  
Everything came rushing up to your senses at once. With a jolt, you felt yourself leaning forwards, awash in pain that spread through your arm and up to your chest. “Argh!”   


There was someone weakly murmuring something to you; blearily you looked at them, caught sight of long red hair and a pale face. Blinked a few times, trying to clear your vision, steady yourself away from this white-hot burning pain that was pooling out from a wound, jagged and large, ripping through a sleeve too dark and wide to be yours.

Ink shone on your hands.

“Har--?”

You tried to focus back on the girl again. She was moving closer, anxiety evident on her face when - a large red… something fluttered down towards you… 

Darkness descended. You felt yourself collapse before the world became entirely non-existant to your consciousness.

“Come on, mate, we’re almost there.”

Groaning, you rolled your head back, your vision returning in blurred increments. Someone had wrapped your arm around their shoulder, supporting your weight as the pale-faced girl from earlier rested a hand on your back.

Your arm no longer hurt.

“What… happened?”  
  
Exhaling in relief, the boy carrying you glanced back at you, “I found you like that, near Ginny. The phoenix - Fawkes? Ginny said that it’d healed you or something, but you’d knocked out beforehand.”

Phoenix…? You could see it now. Flying ahead, glowing golden in the gloom. How could it be a phoenix...?

“Right,” and as indistinctly as it sounded to your ears, even the red-haired boy seemed to notice that layer of disbelief underneath it.

“We’re heading back the way we came,” he reassured you carefully. “Dunno how we’re getting back out though. Especially with Professor Lockhart like he is.”

“Who?” Then you saw him, out of the corner of your eye, dawdling a little behind the three of you. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Though the boy was casting you an odd look now. “Did Harry bump his head or something back there, Ginny?”

“I - I don’t know,” ‘Ginny’ chewed on her bottom lip. “Maybe? He’d just been talking to me as I came back around...” Then she fell quiet again, exhaustion evident on her features.

And the boy sighed, but fell quiet again too.

The so-called ‘phoenix’ landed on your shoulders as the others stopped to look back up a large pipe that gaped open above your heads. You had enough strength now, despite your legs feeling like they’d been encased in jelly, to stand on your own two feet. And as they wondered how they could possibly escape back up there, you warily regarded Fawkes. He was almost as large as a swan, but felt lighter than he looked.

You reached out to touch him dazedly and he cooed, rubbing his beak against your hand. Despite yourself, you smiled. 

Then Fawkes stretched out his wings, barely missing clipping your head with the underside, and suddenly, with powerful strokes of his wings casting air against your cheeks, he pulled you with immense strength up into the air. Tensing, you stared down in bemusement at the others.

Then the red-haired boy’s expression changed and he reached out to grab your hand. “Ginny, grab my hand, make sure that Professor Lockhart grabs yours, okay?”

She nodded and did as he said, coaxing the dazedly smiling Lockhart into taking hold of her other hand. In a gust of air, Fawkes swooped upwards, pulling you and the others along with him easily.

A whoop of excitement garbling past your ears as the man below yelled, “It’s just like magic!”

It felt more like you wanted to be sick. The world a mass of merged dull colours. Everything too surreal to make sense to your mind, your very senses right now.

It felt like seconds had passed before you were back on solid ground again, stumbling upon damp bathroom tiles as Fawkes swept away and over to the exit. “Do we… follow him?” you quietly asked the others.

“I think so,” the red-haired boy replied, glancing anxiously at Ginny as she wrapped her arms around herself, tears now silently flowing down her face as if it’d taken all of her strength merely to stop herself from doing so back down in that cavernous gloom.

Leaving the bathroom, your group made their tired way through unfamiliar hallways until Fawkes paused to hover outside one particular door. Hanging back as you were, it was the red-haired boy that knocked first before entering.

Silence, then someone let out a scream, running straight towards Ginny, a woman wrapped her up in her arms. You backed up, making room, the noise overwhelming you. But you had little time to react beyond that, getting swept up soon after in the arms of the stranger, and you tensed at the sensation, her close presence.

It was only at that point, something clattered from your hold, cutting off the woman’s stream of gratitude. And you looked down only now realizing that you’d been holding onto a collection of items under one arm up until this point.

Resting on top of what looked like an old, tattered hat and an ink-infested book, was a bloodied sword with a ruby-encrusted hilt. You bent to pick them up, looking around for a place to put them, before finally settling them down on the desk before you. 

Hesitating, you looked back at the others.  _ How did you do it?  _ That’s what had been asked of you, right?

… What had you done? How had you gotten into this mess at all?

“I don’t… I’m not sure.” It was the only logical answer to give.

And the grateful woman, who surely must be Ginny’s mother and was more than likely the boy’s too, let out a little noise looking over at someone else… someone that tugged at your memory, made you wonder - you’ve seen this thin, long bearded man somewhere else. Somewhere before any of this had gotten thrown right at you.

He nodded, seemingly in understanding of your current state. “We can talk of this later, once you’ve all had some bed rest.” He turned his attention to Ginny’s mother. “Miss Weasley should accompany them to the hospital wing. You will surely find Madam Pomfrey still awake, providing Mandrake juice to the Basilisk’s victims.”

Miss Weasley’s son exclaimed something about that but, by this point, you were barely able to concentrate on the rest of their conversation. And soon found yourself halfway along a corridor, with Miss Weasley close beside you, her hand gently resting on Ginny’s shoulder. 

The aforementioned hospital wing seemed… quiet, despite the hustle and bustle of one aforementioned Madam Pomfrey. 

There were certainly a number of patients. 

You were herded firmly but kindly, to a nearby bed, removing the strange robe you and so many others seemed to wear as a uniform here. But the mattress was so soft and comfortable that, regardless of the fact that you felt like a grimy mess right now, that there was a mass of thoughts whirling away in the back of your head, you soon managed to doze off.

You woke up. Faint light reflecting through the window panes of the ward.

Your sight was blurred and you squinted. What was going on? Why did your bed feel so comfortable?

… Oh.

There’s a flash of gold and red, a echoing hiss that reverberates through your head that sounds… almost like words. 

That’s right.

Slowly, you sat up, feeling your muscles waking with you in a rather painful and tense way. 

You rubbed at your shoulder absentmindedly, recalling the bird called Fawkes that so many people had called a phoenix.

You stared down at your hands. Everything felt wrong. This wasn’t… you. Was it? All of it was some silly lucid dream that you’ve been suffering from, you’re still just waking up, that’s all. 

Then someone coughed, making you jump. And you focused more on what you could see of your surroundings. A white, clean room and beds, with people sleeping in them.

… You’re still here. 

Letting out a sigh, you searched around for your bedside table, eyes soon landing on it and the glasses that lay folded up there. Hesitating, you stretched out to grab them, awkwardly putting them on.

“Ah, I see you’re awake,” a voice called and you jumped, turning to the source. Relaxing slightly as you took in the sight of Madam Pomfrey.

“Um, yeah, I… Is there a bathroom close by?”

She hummed a moment, seemingly considering whether you were well enough to leave. “Yes, it’s just outside this ward and to your right. Don’t forget to take your clean clothes with you.”

Thanking her, you got out of bed, taking your strange clothes with you. Heading for the nearest sink, you pulled off the glasses, splashing water into your face before - freezing in your tracks.

Shoving the glasses back on, you stared, your bright green-eyed reflection staring right back at you.

Clad in blue and white pyjamas was a small dark-haired boy. He looked slightly familiar, as if you’d seen his likeness somewhere before… 

With a jolt, it came to you: a bespectacled boy and a girl riding upon some kind of griffon on a television set. Not quite the same; he’d looked older, but...

You brushed back your fringe.

He had the same lightning bolt-shaped scar you now did. 

“This is really real?” you whispered, your reflection silently copying you. “But...” You reached out, fingers touching the cool surface of the mirror. Before, your hair was different, wasn’t it? Were you taller, shorter...? You can’t... You didn’t… look like this. 

Hissing through your teeth, you rubbed at your temples, trying to massage away the sudden burning pressure building up between your eyes. 

You stepped away from the mirror, the sensation ballooning outward the more you tried to remember.

Dropping your hands away from your face, you shook your head. “This is insane,” you muttered. 

Waking up covered in ink and blood, having a glowing bird that was apparently a phoenix somehow carry you and everyone else back above an underground area, the odd feeling that you somehow  _ knew  _ some of these people but couldn’t place any of them.

And how you couldn’t remember how in the world you got here in the first place, looking like this.

“I’m just… going to get dressed.” And try to ignore all of this for now in favour of feeling less awkward wearing pyjamas. Even if it’s going to be almost as awkward wearing robes.

You slipped into one of the cubicles, getting dressed, fumbling over how exactly to fit on this supposed uniform. 

By the time you’d returned to the hospital wing, a serious looking woman you was sure had been in that office you’d traipsed to earlier, was waiting for you.

“Potter, if you’re ready the headmaster would like to talk to you in his office.”

“Would he?” you asked weakly. “Uh, I mean, alright,” you amended, as she raised an eyebrow at you.

Opening the door for you, she led you back down the stairs and onwards to the headmaster's office. 

"Sherbet Lemon."

You watched wide-eyed as the gargoyle that was standing watch before the door leapt out of the way. Then glanced to the professor, who seemed like that was an everyday occurrence. 

She gestured for you to go on and, pausing for a brief time, you did, ascending the staircase towards the headmaster's office.


	2. Strange Outset

Even before you entered you could hear a raised voice. Knocking at the door, it all went silent beyond it.  
  
"Uh, hi? You called for me?" You couldn't quite bring yourself to say either headmaster or sir.

Behind the desk, the silver-bearded man unclasped his hands and offered you a small smile. "Harry, thank you for coming."

You felt other eyes piercing you. Looking to the side (and up) a platinum blond-haired man peered down at you with - what looked very much like - barely hidden contempt. Pointed-faced and cold looking, you didn't like the look of him yourself.

But, that wasn’t what really caught your attention. Beside their pair of eyes on you, there was another. Large and round, peering up at you from a strange battish face. You blinked and the creature blinked back.

“So then, have you caught the culprit?” The cold-faced man had turned his attention back to the headmaster, but the strange creature hadn’t. Instead, he was shakily pointing towards the inky book resting on the headmaster’s desk, then gesturing through a flick of his eyes to the man he hid behind.

You angled your head to the side, watching as he did this again, your mouth twitching downwards as he pulled on his large ears as if punishing himself for the actions.

You glanced back at the book. While you were down there… what _had_ happened? And how was it even in relation to this man?

Even with the rest you’d had before, it still felt as if your brain wanted to live anywhere else but in your body right now. Everything was too strange, too surreal for you to fully comprehend.

Although… the more you looked at the ink-encrusted book, the more it reminded you of something… 

A fang shining with venom and that same ink on it’s razor-sharp tip.

You could remember holding it, feeling the chilled smooth surface, pulling it out of an injury that you shouldn’t have had, that hadn’t existed before you’d arrived here, trapped in someone else’s body that wasn’t your own.

Of someone screaming out, the sound distorted and broken before it faded away completely. You rubbed at your forehead.

“... That is why I called young Harry here today.”

You lifted your head, focusing back on the headmaster, reminded again of how familiar he looked without knowing quite why. But the cold man’s sharp glance towards you had you tensing, rubbing at your arm self-consciously. 

“Who then, caused all of this?” the man drawled.

“It was the book,” you blurted. “There was… someone there with Ginny - a presence.” You paused, and despite the man’s downturning lip, the headmaster calmly gestured for you to continue at your own pace. 

This wasn’t _your_ memories _._ Not what you could remember - not exactly. But, it was there. Something snaking around to the front of your brain, making itself quietly known now. 

You shifted, feeling a sudden need to hide - but you couldn’t.

‘The _Basilisk’s victims…’_ Hissing and snapping of teeth close behind him and cold, high laughter reverberating through the underground and -

Cold skin, a red-haired figure curled up, dying on the floor.

“It wasn’t her fault,” you found yourself saying quietly. 

The headmaster straightened. “Do you know who exactly was at fault, Harry?”

In your mind’s eye, you could see a flash of yellow and white and, an older boy was somehow writing a name through the air, rearranging the letters to form: “Voldemort.”

Silence.

It swept through the office.

Drawing himself up, the blond man said slowly, “I see...”

You didn’t like saying that name, somehow. And neither did this man like you saying it either, apparently. His eyes were narrowed in your direction.

“Then that,” the headmaster began in a level voice, catching the man’s attention once more, “coincides with his friend Ron’s own account. Because if they hadn’t discovered this book, why - Ginny Weasley might have taken the blame. No one would ever have been able to prove she hadn’t acted of her own free will...”

The pale man’s face became a stone mask.

“Imagine Lucius,” the headmaster continued, “what might have happened then… The Weasleys are one of our most prominent pure-blood families. Imagine the effect on Arthur Weasley and his Muggle Protection Act, if his own daughter was discovered attacking and killing Muggle-borns. Very fortunate the diary was discovered, and it was destroyed before anymore harm could be done. Who knows what the consequences could have been otherwise…”

For a brief time, Lucius stayed silent, a statue. Then, as if it took an immense effort to say, “Very fortunate.”

It was as if Dumbledore was imposing more than just the importance of Ginny’s safety in those statements. And your eyes drifted back to the diary. A presence within it… With everything that’s happened since the time you woke up in the underground, you’ve had little room to breathe, let alone think but - what if the diary… What if someone had _meant_ for it to fall into Ginny’s hands?

The bat-like creature was shifting again, out of the corner of your eye. You saw him repeating the same motions as before, the last puzzle piece clicking into place.

This man… This pale, cold-faced man had known of the dangers of this book. Your hands twisted into fists.

“I wonder how Ginny could’ve gotten hold of that diary,” you wondered aloud, trying your damned best to keep your tone level, but not quite managing it. “It’s not hers, after all, is it? It belongs to someone else.”

The man narrowed his eyes, reading the insinuation beneath the question. “And who, pray tell, would possibly give it to her?” he said it loftily, as if such a thing was below him.

But you snorted, unable to stop yourself. “I’d imagine _you’d_ know.”

His right hand twitched, tightening around his cane.

And the headmaster cleared his throat, snapping the man’s attention back to him. “I would advise you, Lucius, not to go giving out any more of Lord Voldemort’s old school things. If any more of them find their way into innocent hands, I think Arthur Weasley, for one, will make sure that they are traced back to you...”

Standing still for a few moments, Lucius swept away from them, calling out to the bat-like creature. “We’re going, Dobby!”

As the door was wrenched open, Lucius very clearly kicked Dobby through it… The next thing you knew, you’d picked up the diary, ran out after them and pulled your arm back.

Flinging the diary right at Lucius’ head.

He snarled and turned, wrenching an ornate looking stick from out of the cane’s insides, aiming it at you.

Dobby hid behind him, pulling on his ears again as he looked in horror at you.

Lucius raised the object as you watched in bemusement as - the headmaster’s office door opened and it’s owner stepped out.

As quickly as the stick had been within Lucius’ hand, it was no longer there.

Dobby’s hand was half-heartedly raised, before he dropped them, wrapping his hands together in a tight grip. Casually, Lucius turned away again, stiffly walking back down the corridor.

Humming a thoughtful noise as he watched him leave, the headmaster turned to look at you. “You should get back to the Gryffindor dorm, Harry,” he said quietly, patting you once on the shoulder before heading back inside.

* * *

You had no idea where you were going. Not at all.

‘The Gryffindor dorm’, he’d said. Not like you knew. … Not like he'd know that though, either.

"Harry?" 

You found yourself reacting to the name before you even fully realized it. Then winced, just as a tall, red-haired teen came into view. Was this maybe one of the Weasley's?

"Uh, yes?"

"You should be back in your assigned dorm, not waltzing around out here." He pulled himself up to his full height, hands on hips, a badge pinned to the front of his robes shining the capital 'P' out to the world. 

"I… got lost? Turned around, really. Must be the whole recovering thing."

He frowned at you, before his expression softened with a sigh. "Come on then, I'll let you off with a warning this time… Follow me."

Relief untwined the constriction within your chest, though you couldn’t quite manage a smile at your saviour. "Thanks."

The way to the dormitory felt… long. A quiet time that seemed to just keep on growing lengthier. Until something moved out of the corner of your eye on the corridor’s wall. Jumping, you turned and found yourself staring right at a painting that was clearly staring right back at you.

“What’re you looking at, boy?” harrumphed a grumpy moustached man that was clearly made of _paint,_ as he lowered his book, peering out at you with a frown.

“I - uh… you?” you stammered out. “How are you able to _talk?_ ”

The painted man blinked and shared a confused look with the red-haired prefect.

“It’s just the same as any of the other paintings that we have here,” the latter said, stopping just shy of the painting to study you. “... Are you _sure_ that we should be heading to the Gryffindor common room? Maybe you should be spending another night at the hospital wing.”

“No, no!” You raised your hands up, hoping to quickly and clearly placate him. You didn’t want to go back in there. Didn’t want the possibility of strangers fussing over you. “I’m fine, just… exhausted after everything that’s happened. That’s all.”

He frowned, silence descending between you as he seemed to weigh out his options. 

“The headmaster quite clearly asked me to go back to the Gryffindor dorms,” you affirmed quickly. “So...”

“Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” he sighed. And carried on walking.

Soon, he stopped before a far larger, looming painting at the top of one of many (moving, god, what else was there to all of this?) staircase’s landings. You glanced between the painting and your helper in silence, shifting uncertainly on your feet.

“Wattlebird,” said the teen confidently.

The large lady in the painting waved her hand, the framework and canvas swinging backwards to reveal the entrance to what must be the dorm room.


	3. Amity

Awkwardly, you entered, glancing back behind you as the painting swung back into place once more, just as someone slammed into you, sending you stumbling backwards. “Wha-?”

“You and Ron, solved it!” Arms wrapped around you briefly, ringlets of curly brown hair brushing against your face, then the owner stepped back as you shifted away.

A girl a little taller than yourself smiled at you, her eyes shining with unshed tears. And right behind her, Ron grinned at you. “The Mandrakes did the trick,” he said. “You’d just missed it all sleeping everything off, mate.”

The only thing you could think to do was smile back at them weakly, feeling your stomach tying itself in knots.

“We - we wanted to wait up for you, until you got back,” the girl added. 

“Well, Hermione was told she was okay to leave the hospital wing a couple of hours before,” Ron added.

You nodded, moving past them to sit down before the quite welcoming looking fireplace.

They sat down near you, their smiles faltering. 

“You alright, Harry?” Ron asked, leaning forward to study you.

You shrugged, then shook your head. “I’m fine,” and maybe it sounds too cold, too strained at the same time, by the way they pull back slightly. “I’m just tired, that’s all.” Something you felt like you’d been repeating a lot of today. But what else could you do? All of this was still… so much. And their alien concern wasn’t helping matters.

Suddenly, as you caught them exchanging glances, you stood up. The fire no longer felt so welcoming. “I’m gonna go get some extra sleep.”

And you left, feeling cold emptiness gnaw at your insides as they watched you leave in surprise and worry. They only care because they think you’re somebody else.

* * *

As you stepped on through into the boy’s dorm room, you stopped where you stood, gaze flickering from one poster bed to the next. Taking in the odd details of moving, actual printed posters on the walls beside one, a small curling flower in a plant pot upon a desk beside another.

Which one of these is supposed to be yours?

You sighed audibly, grip tightening on your fore-arm as you continued to awkwardly take in the room at large.

It’s only when your eyes catch onto a trunk at the bottom of one unoccupied bed that you moved forward, making for it. 

And low and behold! … It had the name ‘Harry Potter’ emblazoned upon it. 

Scowling down at it, you slumped upon the mattress, scowling now at the floor instead. What had you done to end up here? Was this some form of punishment for something you’d done in the past? … Not that you could remember who you are really in the first place.

Flopping down onto the bed, you grab tight hold of the cushions, discomforting glasses frames be damned, pulling them up to your face - and screamed into them.

_Why was this happening to you?_

_Where in the world are you?_

And why, does everyone else think you’re the one being weird when this whole place was entirely bonkers!?

You didn’t even realize you were crying until tears wet your fingers. And god, doesn’t it make everything else worse. Sniffing, you rolled over and rubbed roughly at your cheeks, ignoring the fact that your stupid glasses that aren’t supposed to be yours, were now hanging lopsidedly off of the bridge of your nose.

Instead, you end up raising your hands to stare at them again, clenching and unclenching them into fists, before dropping them loosely by your sides with another sniff, letting the glasses fall off of your nose and onto the bed. Angrily, you drop them off the side of the it.

Someone further back in the room mumbled and rolled over in their sleep and you stiffen, sharply glancing over to the source. But in the dull glow of the room, the curtains pulled around those that are occupied, you couldn’t make out who made the noise.

… And right now, as long as they didn’t wake up, you couldn’t care less anyway.

Yanking your own curtains back across ‘your’ bed, you curled up into a ball, not bothering to pull off the silly robes. You tried to hide your head under your arms, scrunching your eyes shut. 

* * *

A green flare of light invaded your nightmares. Seeping across familiar surroundings of a room that’d once been yours; disorganized and small, scattered with half-read books and partially crumpled notebooks.

One notebook opened itself upon your desk, fluttering through page after empty page, slowly filling with ink that formed, flowed into the shape of a serpent - it raised itself up, hissed and - your eyes fluttered open.

You lay curled up on your side, arms tucked in to your chest. You stared blankly at the red and gold curtains in front of you.

“Still here,” you muttered and sat up.

Taking care to be as quiet as possible, you made to pull back the curtains and - stopped. You were in your pyjamas again. Shuddering, you yanked your arms back to your chest. Was this so-called magic? Or did someone undress and redress you while you slept, like back at that hospital wing?

Sucking in a breath, you shook your head in an attempt to clear it. If you let yourself linger too long on that, it’ll make you even more creeped out than you already are.

Grabbing your robes from where they’d been hung up from the end of your bed, you finally pulled back the curtains.

Blinking in the dawn’s light, you caught sight of someone a little on the blurry side further away from you. 

“Alright, Harry?” he said, raising a hand.

You inclined your head, grabbing your glasses and putting them on, filing away the fact that whoever had messed with your clothes had also messed with these glasses. Putting them on the bedside table while you slept.

The speaker - it seemed - was a nervous looking gangly boy who was in the middle of cleaning up his portion of the room.

You could see Ron snoring, his face half-buried in his cushion in the bed across from yours.

“I - I could wake him, if you want,” the nervous boy said, glancing his way.

“No, leave him. I’m um, just going to get changed and wake myself up a bit.” You’d prefer to have some time to yourself, rather than having him or the girl hanging around you asking questions right now.

Afterwards, you headed downstairs, slumping into one of the couches near the fireplace as small talk from the few surrounding students swept around you. 

Absentmindedly you rubbed at the scar on your forehead. 

Talking paintings, basilisks, phoenixes…. It was obvious that this wasn’t a normal school. And you were stuck in the middle of it all as a student.

You have an identity here that’s completely separate from yourself: Harry Potter.

The boy riding a griffon on the television screen - or… whatever that thing had been, alongside that girl - Hermione! The one with the bushy brown hair from earlier. 

But that had been televised. Fiction.

None of this, however, was.

It felt real, looked and smelled real.

And no matter how much you wanted to believe that it wasn’t, there was no way that it couldn’t be. You keep on waking up here.

And, besides, it wasn’t possible to have nightmares within a dream, was it?

Glass clinked against glass and you flinched, breaking free from your reverie. 

Hermione was settling down in the couch opposite your own, she held two mugs of what looked like hot chocolate. Separating one from the other, she offered one out to you. “I kept aside some of the hot chocolate they served during the feast while you slept,” she said gently.

You took it carefully, gratefully from her, taking a sip.

“How are you feeling?”

“I should be asking you that,” you responded. She had been one of the Basilisk’s victims, hadn’t she?

“Harry...”

You blew out a sigh, leaning against the backrest. This was concern for ‘Harry’ not for you. But how could she know what’s really going on anyway? What would she think about it? … Why should you care?

Wordlessly, you placed the cup down on the table. “I don’t know,” you finally settled on bluntly. “Everything’s just… too much at the moment.”

You could hear her outtake of breath, before you even dared glance at her. Already you were tensing, wanting to sink down into the settee more and never be seen again. Especially when you finally caught her gaze and noticed how her brow creased in definite concern.

“You should see Professor Dumbledore,” she offered quickly. “Or go back to the hospital wing and tell Madam Pomfrey, it could be from shock. You might not have recovered fully from it all yet.”

You shake your head. “No, I don’t want to back there - to the hospital wing, I mean. I just… I don’t know, I feel… kind of lost. But I don’t want someone fussing too much over me about it.”

“But…” She leaned forwards, clasping her hands in her lap. “Why? If it’s something serious - did something really bad happen down there you aren’t telling us?”

You hesitated - flashes of those great fangs enclosing over your arm and _searing pain_ and laughter and - you pulled your legs up towards your chest, wrapping your arms around them. “I can’t remember clearly what happened,” you said quietly.

“What?”

“It’s all… a massive blur. I don’t know how I saved Ginny, I just know that Voldemort had something to do with it all - and the basilisk.”

She flinched at the name, but she kept her gaze steadily on you. “It does sound to me like shock,” she said carefully, gently. “I think - I think you should really go talk to one of the professors about it.”

But what if they suggested for you to go to the hospital wing again? … Then again, what if all of this _was_ just shock and you are who everyone says you are? What if, this was just some weird reaction to it all?

… But, the fact that there’s apparently magic here and - everything else…

You’ll be talking yourself in circles at this rate and, even if you still feel discomforted by her level of concern, maybe she had a point.

So, finally you nodded. “Maybe, you’re right. I’ll go talk to Professor Dumbledore about this.” At the very least, he wasn’t as intimidating as Professor McGonagall.

Surprise flitted across Hermione’s face, but just as quick as you registered it, she was clasping her hands around one of your own in an attempt to pull you to your feet. So, giving in, you let her, casting her a quizzical look.

“I’ll go with you,” she said simply.

You opened your mouth, then closed it again with a shrug. She might as well. She probably knows this school’s hallways and odd moving staircases better than you do, anyway.

As the painting of the Fat Lady creaked open to let you and her go outside, you could see a wince of hesitation flash across her face. But then, it vanished, replaced by determination instead, as she led you along.


End file.
